Walk or pledge to battle cancer

TOM JOHNSON

When I think of cancer, I first think of my dad, Bill Johnson. He

adopted me at the age of 9, gave me his last name and raised me as

his own. He died of lung cancer after a difficult battle nine years

ago this past weekend. He was a wonderful man. At the time, it didn’t

seem fair. Today, it still doesn’t.

When I think of cancer, I think of Rosalind Williams. Roz ran the

Conference and Visitors Bureau in town ... or should I say Roz built

the Conference and Visitors Bureau in town. She was a tireless giver

to this community.

Roz battled breast cancer too many times to remember. She was

strong. She was courageous. She seemed unbeatable. In the end,

though, she lost. I remember then Daily Pilot Editor Bill Lobdell

wrote in a tribute column: “I didn’t give cancer much of a chance

against Rosalind Williams.” That quote spoke volumes about her will

to live and thrive.

When I think of cancer, I think of my good friend Paul Salata.

Paul, who spends almost every waking hour making other people feel

good, was stricken with colon cancer a couple of years back. In spite

of a difficult battle and a fight against age, Paul won. Today,

Irrelevant Week continues because of his involvement, and the

community is better for it ... and him.

When I think of cancer, I think of Judy Oetting, my advertising

director for a number of years at the Pilot. In September of 2003,

Judy was stricken with pancreatic cancer. The fight was strong, but

the battle short. Judy died in February 2004, lost but not forgotten

by me or her co-workers.

When I think of cancer, I think of Roy Alvarado. He was the

reformed drug dealer and ex-convict who returned to fight the gang

issues facing the Westside of Costa Mesa in the early ‘90s. Today,

somewhere in heaven, Roy must be shaking his head listening to all

the bickering on issues facing his hometown and his people.

When I think of cancer, I think of Jason Ferguson. Ferguson

coached basketball at Costa Mesa while just in his early 20s. I still

remember the picture of him sitting there on the sidelines in his

wheelchair cheering and coaching his team, despite being in the final

throes of a disease that seemed unimaginable. His battle and his

sheer determination probably taught those kids more of a life lesson

than they’ll ever know.

When I think of cancer, I think of the pages of the Daily Pilot

over the years. Of adults and children alike, whose stories grace the

pages, each with their own battle with this potentially deadly

disease. Some with remarkable stories of success, others with stories

of loss, or in some cases, even just a simple obituary.

When I think of cancer, I think of Hoag Hospital and its

outstanding Cancer Center. I think of Dr. Robert Dillman, its medical

director, who leads the effort through research and treatment alike.

I think of the doctors, like Warren Fong and Neil Barth, whose jobs

it is to deal with the patients, most often with encouragement and

inspiration mixed in with their newest, state-of-the-art treatment.

When I think of cancer, I do think of our own Newport Beach mayor,

Steve Bromberg. In spite of running a busy law practice and fighting

his own battles with cancer, Bromberg still finds time to lead our

fair city with commitment and determination. He’s always one to brag

about what’s good in our town and most often with a smile on his

face.

We each have our own stories ... our own losses ... and hopefully

some victories in between.

When I think of cancer, I particularly think of this weekend’s

Relay for Life. It’s a celebration of and against cancer. It’s a time

when the community gathers to walk for 24-hours, this year on the

track surrounding the football field at Newport Harbor High School.

All with two common goals: One, to remember those who have fought the

great battle, win or lose. And, two, to raise money to beat it once

and for all.

As I take my laps this Friday and Saturday, I’ll be reminded each

time around of my dad, whose luminaria will burn bright along with

the hundreds of others that will encompass the track. Each luminaria

with the name of someone who deserves remembrance.

The event starts at 6 p.m. Friday evening and runs all through the

night and then into following day until 6 p.m. Saturday. Stop by, and

you’ll see the tents of those who are in it for the long haul. You’ll

enjoy food from our local Newport Beach firefighters and other

participating restaurants. You’ll hear music from local bands and

from our own Jim Roberts, who always seems to be a part of big

community events. You’ll hear stories and poems of those who have

conquered the big C and by those left behind..

And, if you’re like me, you’ll probably even shed a tear at some

point.

If you want to walk, buy a luminaria or make a pledge, call David

Schapira at the local American Cancer Society office, (949) 567-0635,

or e-mail him at david.schapira@cancer.org.

I urge you to get involved. There’s still time. And, more

importantly, there’s still work to be done. Think walk ... think this

Friday and Saturday.

* TOM JOHNSON is the publisher.